


turn the lights on

by goldhorn (englishsummerrain)



Series: kinktober 2020 [4]
Category: NCT (Band), SHINee
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Hand Jobs, Hyung Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26853955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/goldhorn
Summary: When the music is flowing and the two of them move beside each other it's like he's in orbit, like they're both soaring. When it stops Jeno is slapped, again, with the realisation that he's in the same room as Lee Taemin. Brought straight back down to Earth, crashing through the stratosphere with the stars still caught in his eyes.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Lee Taemin
Series: kinktober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945297
Comments: 18
Kudos: 98





	turn the lights on

**Author's Note:**

> kinktober day 7: hyung/oppa kink
> 
> i saw the criminal mv and i wanted to see taemin get railed. sadly this is not that fic, but it is definitely the result of the fucking video markno did with him. oh dear.

“It’s so cute how he can never keep a straight face.”

Jeno glances around the room, bewildered, as if there's a chance that Taemin could be talking to anyone but him. Mark — and all the staff with the cameras — had left the second they hit cut, called away to a 127 schedule or something Jeno hadn’t quite caught the full explanation for because he was busy staring at Taemin.

Lee Taemin. Lying on the floor in the practice room, belly up, hair haloing out, a giddy grin plastered across his face. 

“Mark?”

“Yeah,” Taemin says, turning his head sideways so he can stare straight at Jeno, wide eyed and fond. “It’s adorable.”

“He’s really cute, isn’t he?” Jeno says. Taemin laughs again.

“He’s always been cute. You too. I really can’t believe how tall you are.”

“I’m not that tall, hyung,” Jeno says. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him — he feels overwhelmed. In awe. If Jeno’s to be honest he still can’t believe he’s here with him. 

“You were tiny the last time I saw you. Now you’re all…” he trails off, making a vague gesture that Jeno takes to represent the considerable amount of centimeters he’s gained since they were last this close. Jeno remains quiet, standing awkwardly in the middle of the silent practice room, the sweat cooling on his back starting to itch.

“Mark was like this, too,” Taemin says, offering him an apologetic smile. He rolls over — and over, and over, until he’s lying on Jeno’s sneakers, staring up at him with a kiddish grin. “Not the tall thing. I mean shy." 

"Did you roll on his feet too?" Jeno asks. Taemin smiles wider at him. 

"No. We just spent a lot of time together."

Something flashes across his face — something sparkling — before he's rolling away again and clambering to his feet. "I watched you dancing to Want, you know," he says, strolling over to the sound system and plugging his phone in. Jeno’s cheeks heat up, embarrassment biting at him. 

"You did?" Jeno says. 

"Ah, of course. I wish I could have seen more." 

"Oh. Ah.” He’s not sure how to answer. An apology? Taemin is staring at him — waiting for an answer — and Jeno is so giddy he might explode. “Thank you." 

He can feel his blush deepening, a heated flush creeping across his skin. Taemin smiles, bright eyed, then holds up his phone and ducks his head away.

"Do you wanna show me?"

  
  
  
  
  
  


There's something to be said about dancing with your idol — with the person who's dance videos you'd watched for hours on end as a teenager. There's something more to have his hands on you as he corrects your posture. Something liquid, something that explodes in a shower of sparks.

Jeno's acutely aware of the pressure of Taemin's palm on the small of his back, slipping higher as he smoothes out the curve of his spine, a low hum escaping his throat. 

"Of course it's down to personal style," Taemin says, and it's closer than Jeno had expected — his voice casual and light. His hands slip from him and he straightens up, standing beside Jeno and flashing him another of those bright smiles. "You're a fast learner, and I think you already know you don't need to copy me." 

Jeno doesn't want to tell him he's been copying him since he'd debuted. It's less embarrassing that way. 

They'd run through Want a few times (and by they, he really means it was mostly Jeno trying not to get distracted watching Taemin dancing beside him), until Taemin had just queued up a medley of SHINee songs, laughing and cooing at Jeno every time he knew the choreography, clapping excitedly each time a new song started and Jeno moved into formation. 

If someone had told Jeno even a few years ago that he'd be dancing View with Taemin — laughing with him, the both of them goofing up the moves then collapsing onto the floor like marionettes with their strings cut — Jeno would have thought they were mad.

Yet here he is. Here he is, just the two of them in the practice room, Taemin giving him a warm smile as he hands a crumpled water bottle to Jeno, lips wet and shiny.

"We don't have to keep going through this," he says, "unless you want to?" 

Jeno shrugs, trying not to betray the hammer of his heart as he takes a sip of water. They never really hold eye contact for long — not in the beats between sentences like this. Taemin always finds a way to brush his hair out of his eyes, or glances towards the stereo, or laugh, shrugging and twirling away. 

"I don't mind, hyung,” Jeno says.

There's a beat of silence, stretched maybe a little too long, thrumming with energy like an imperceptible note, before Taemin breaks it, the clap of his hands so sudden Jeno jumps.

"Sorry!" Taemin says, laughing and reaching out to rest a hand on Jeno’s shoulder, then quickly removing it. "Sorry," he repeats. "I didn’t mean to scare you." 

When the music is flowing and the two of them move beside each other it's like he's in orbit, like they're both soaring. When it stops Jeno is slapped, again, with the realisation that he's in the same fucking room as Lee Taemin. Brought straight back down to Earth, crashing through the stratosphere with the stars still caught in his eyes.

“No,” Jeno says. “It’s okay.” He laughs, flashing Taemin a small grin. “I was just daydreaming.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They go back to Criminal again. At first it's just the two of them goofing around — Jeno pulling faces, Taemin trying to trip him, Jeno retaliating by poking him in the ribs, a moment where Taemin spins far too many times in a row and ends up stumbling like he's tipsy as the chorus crashes around them. 

It's all just silly, but Jeno can't help but stare.

Before he'd admired Taemin's sensuality for the sheer emotion he'd been able to convey in his moves. The floodlight burn of his eyes, the sway of his hips. How every flick of the wrist conveyed something — a simmering lust, a siren song. 

Now he's in the same room as him, watching him sway with a look in his eyes like he's trying to fuck his reflection, Jeno can flat out just admit that Taemin is hot. He untucks the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then for some god forsaken reason decides to pull it over the front of his face in a move that would maybe be funny if it didn't give Jeno a full view of his sweat soaked abs. 

It might be funny if Jeno's throat didn't go dry and a whole slew of unholy thoughts didn't empty themselves into his brain like a flooded dam. 

Funnier still, if when Taemin pulled his shirt back down he wasn't still smiling — not the burning one, but the cute one — and if all Jeno couldn't think about was what his pink lips might look like wrapped around his cock.

"Let's try something serious," Taemin says and Jeno nods, turning away and willing himself not to get hard — forgetting that they're surrounded by mirrors, and no matter where Jeno looks all he can see is Taemin.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They do it seriously. Seriously seriously. Taemin picks up the fabric strips they'd dropped on the floor a good hour ago and slips one around Jeno's wrist, holding up his own hands with a pleading look in his eyes. It takes Jeno a second to realise he's asking for Jeno to put it on for him, and though he briefly wonders why Taemin can't do it himself he gives in to him anyway.

"Thanks," Taemin says, twisting his arms to tie it up and prompting Jeno to do the same. Taemin reaches out and gives him a light tap on the fist with the bridge of fabric between his hands, then giggles. "Guess we're both criminals now." 

"On the run from the law for crimes against dance," Jeno says, solemn.

"Are we running with handcuffs on?" 

"That's what these are?" Jeno raises his hands. 

"What did you think they were?" 

His tone is light and playful, eyebrow raised, and so maybe it's Jeno's imagination, but he swears there's a kick behind it. Something that operates on another level, an undercurrent that tests their boundaries.

Jeno opens his mouth, not even sure of his response, but he's saved by the final chorus of the song and Taemin's sudden need to burst into dance, strutting across the room with his hands still tied, singing at the top of his lungs.

The song ends and it becomes serious — everything hardened around them. Some kind of reflection of the trance Jeno slips into before he walks out onto the stage, his entire body humming in anticipation. In the mirrors he can see Taemin's face betrays the same thing, though when they make eye contact he lets out another tiny laugh and ducks his head.

Jeno is still very much nowhere as good as Taemin (he thinks Taemin would probably beat him even at his own songs), but the awareness of it melts away like an ice cube in a sauna, only a puddle on the floor as they move together.

When it comes time for them to pull the ribbon off with their wrists, Jeno does as he’s supposed to. The fabric is soft between his teeth, and Jeno doesn’t think much of it until he looks up to find that Taemin has turned the opposite direction, and that he’s facing him. It gives Jeno pause, a pump on the brakes, his movement halted as they hold eye contact. 

The music’s still playing, but the world is on pause. It’s just the two of them, stillness in what should be a constant flow, twin statues cast into the river. Taemin’s eyes burn with a curiosity — as if he’s on the verge of falling into something. As if he’s inviting Jeno in. Giving up to him.

Jeno’s not sure why he does it. He doesn’t even know if it’s offered — if it’s even an option. He lets the fabric drop from his mouth and leans forward, Taemin’s eyes never leaving his as Jeno bites gently at the makeshift restraint around his wrists, tugging it away, straightening up and dropping it to the floor with a puff of air. 

Another heartbeat. A crackle, ozone in the air. Imagined or otherwise. It’s like they’re circling each other, and Jeno doesn’t know when the mood in the room changed — only that it’s like cinder in his fists, warmth spreading across his skin.

“Hyung,” Jeno says. Taemin tilts his head ever so slightly, his hands coiled loosely into fists, still raised like he’s halfway between supplication and violence.

The step he takes is trembling. Unsure. A little less than a full step, close enough that Jeno can still play this off. He’s just grazing the edge of his personal space, Taemin’s hands centimeters away from brushing the fabric of his shirt. He unclenches a fist and rotates his hand — lazy, almost, a moment that if Jeno hadn't already decided his intent would be giving him a chance to withdraw. A chance to take a step back before he tugs on the thread and this all starts to unravel. 

Jeno’s heart thuds beneath his palm, errant heartbeat at odds with the sensuality of the music. His fingers tighten near imperceptibly in the fabric of his shirt, and Jeno takes a shuddering breath. On the precipice. Quivering, every part of him strung out and tense.

He could be misreading all this. He could be fucking up — throwing his entire career out, maybe. It should be a sobering thought, but there’s a terrifying part of Jeno that underpins everything — a terrifying part of him that despite his love for comfort, his love for keeping the earth below him as steady as it could ever be — a terrifying part of him that tells him to be reckless.

Eyes wicked, Taemin’s hair soft where he grasps it in his fist. His palm slides across Jeno’s chest as he closes in on him, slipping around to grasp at his side, and when their mouths meet he surges up into him. 

It's hungry. Holy fucking shit, it's hungry, sparks dancing across his tongue. Taemin's fingers dig into his back and there's no room for any interpretation except the very real one that Taemin wants this. He clasps at Jeno, sucking his lower lip into his mouth, and everything crashes back into motion. 

A firecracker spinning in his ribcage, something that Jeno didn't even know he was holding in. Taemin dances with a graceful beauty, but he kisses like he’s desperate, and the contrast only serves to spur Jeno on, prompting him to pull back for a second and just stare at Taemin.

Maybe it was a mistake. Taemin looks on the cusp of hunger — like he’s been starved for so long he’s about to go mad. He melts beneath Jeno’s grip and Jeno kisses him again, pushing up against him and throwing himself into the heat of his skin.

It’s quiet in the room — no music playing, just the wet sound of their kisses, Taemin panting into his mouth every time he pauses. The little whines Jeno lets out without intent, teased out of them by each swipe of Taemin’s tongue. Jeno grasps a little tighter at Taemin’s hair and his breath hitches, body twitching towards him

"Fuck," Taemin gasps, his head tipping back at the lightest tug from Jeno. It's such a nice word to come from his lips, cutting through the air, desperate and sharp in a way that makes Jeno think he's about to go absolutely mad. He kisses down his jaw, taking his time with it, trying not to shudder every time Taemin moans. 

It's a heady kind of power. Something that's dizzying, the way every press of his lips to Taemin's throat makes him react — grip tightening on his shirt, hips twitching against his. Jeno noses down Taemin's neck, some reckless confidence sparked by their kiss surging through him, pausing with his lips hovering over his pulse point. 

"How's this hyung?" he asks, and Taemin hisses as he licks a stripe down the side of his neck, pushing back the shoulder of his shirt to get better access to his collarbones. "Does hyung like this?" 

"Yeah," Taemin pants, hand slipping under the hem of his shirt to splay across the small of his back. His blunt nails dig into his skin and Jeno shifts his grip, grasping at his ass as he grazes his teeth against his collarbone, trying not to think about the fact that the person in his hands is Lee Taemin. "Hyung likes it." 

A spark to thick oil. Jeno crashes their mouths together again, the heat of his body surging against him. Taemin dips his hands into his waistband and bites at his lips and it spurs Jeno on. 

There's something about the honorific that seems to drive Taemin wild. Every use of it is accompanied by a breathy gasp, and Jeno finds he likes it. 

"What else does hyung want?" Jeno asks. Another gasp, sucked through his teeth, his next kiss biting. 

"Whatever you want," Taemin says. 

That's power. That's something Jeno doesn't know how to handle. He only wants to please, and to have someone in his hands like this is so foreign. Beneath the hunger in Taemin's kisses there's a pliancy too, and Jeno wants to push it. He's never been on this side of the coin, and he wonders how far he can take it. 

He walks them backwards, step by step, Taemin following him like there's a magnetism in their touch, chasing kiss after kiss.

When they reach the mirror Jeno flips them around, crowding in on Taemin and trapping him against the glass, brackets Taemin's face with his arms and going back to kissing him. 

Honestly, Jeno could continue this forever. He almost wants to — whimpers trembling on his lips, Taemin’s fingers digging into the muscles of his ass as he holds him flat against him. He drops a hand from his face and swipes his tongue against his lip, pushing up the hem of his shirt to flatten his palm against his stomach. Taemin’s hips buck against his, and fuck — _fuck_. He’s hard. Jeno scratches at his abs and feels his muscles flex beneath his grip, and he _growls_ , something feral breaking through him.

“God, hyung,” Jeno says, pulling back so he can meet Taemin’s eyes, coal black and curling with lust. “Never thought I’d end up here.”

“Me neither,” Taemin says. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he stares up at Jeno, slightly slumped in his efforts to press their hips together. “I won’t complain, though.”

Jeno laughs. He drops his hand from Taemin’s stomach to thumb at his hip, dancing along the waistband of his pants and watching his face — the way his breath hitches, the beautiful way his eyes flutter shut as Jeno cups him through his pants. His lips part and Jeno can’t resist leaning in and biting, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and releasing it again, kissing down to nip at his throat as he palms his cock. 

“Hyung,” he murmurs, lowering his free hand to cup Taemin’s jaw and tilt it back further. 

Taemin hisses — again — though he’s not sure if it’s the honorific or the fact he’s desperately trying to get more friction against Jeno’s hand. “Yeah?” 

It vibrates through Jeno’s lips, and Taemin turns his head to the side, tongue darting out to curl around his thumb, sucking his finger into his mouth until the pad is resting on his lip.

It’s enough to make Jeno shudder, squeezing Taemin’s cock one last time before he pushes at his waistband, pausing for a second to give him a chance to stop him and then — when he doesn’t move away — pushing his hand into his boxers to wrap around his cock. 

Taemin’s head hits the mirror with a thump, his entire body arching into it. “Jeno…” he says, and it’s the prettiest sound in the world. 

“Is that okay, hyung?” 

His hips jerk up into the circle of Jeno’s fist and he takes it as a yes, widening his stance so he’s crowding in on him again. 

This Jeno can do. This is in his wheelhouse. He knows how to kiss — how to do this. What he doesn't know is how to handle what he sees when he makes the mistake of tearing his gaze away from Taemin’s wrecked face to glance in the mirror.

Two brushstrokes, two people. Taemin’s entire body arcing towards Jeno like the curve of a bow, the way his cock looks in Jeno’s hand. Skin red and flushed, and as Jeno twists his hand, smearing Taemin’s precum across his palm, Taemin whines, twitching in his grip. 

“Hyung,” Jeno repeats, and he’s still looking in the mirror. Taemin, too. Their eyes on each other.

“Fuck,” Taemin says, shuddering at Jeno flicks at the head of his cock with his thumb. “Wait," he gasps. "Wait a second.” He pushes at Jeno’s hand and there’s a second where Jeno’s heart drops — a moment of worry that he’s overstepped and Taemin doesn’t want this — before Taemin drops to his knees and Jeno realises exactly what’s happening. 

He doesn’t get to say much. Taemin just looks up at him — eyes wide, lips kiss bitten and pink with lip tint — and gives him the same moment Jeno had afforded him before. Hands flat on his thighs, a question.

“Please,” Jeno says, nodding, and he barely has time to process it before Taemin pulls him out of his pants — a second where the cool air hits the sensitive skin of his cock — and then he takes him into his mouth. 

Jeno _whines._ High pitched, gasping, all the breath punched from his lungs at the sensation of Taemin’s lips on his cock. His hands curl into fists at his sides and Taemin grabs his wrist, guiding him to his hair, and when Jeno looks down he finds his gaze on him, his eyes burning with something fierce. 

Jeno thinks if he dies at this moment he’ll probably be happy. He has Taemin’s mouth on his cock and the sounds that fill his ears are absolutely obscene. Wet and thick, his lips shining with spit as he works at him. Something crackles through Jeno and he groans, gasping at the jerk of Taemin’s fist around the base of his cock, a long whine punched from his lungs to make room for the arousal that shoots through him. He runs his hand through Taemin’s hair, urging him on, and that’s when he makes the mistake of looking up. That’s when he makes the second mistake of staring in the mirror and seeing just what this looks like. 

Taemin on his knees, one palm cupping Jeno’s ass while the other works at the base of his cock. The stretch of his mouth around the shaft, his eyes wide and pleading. They make eye contact in the reflection and Jeno feels a bolt of hot lust pierce through him, dripping down his bones, red hot heat that he can’t escape. Taemin pulls back, swirling his tongue around the head of his cock, and Jeno turns to look at him — the real version of him, not his reflection, the honest to god real person on his knees in front of him. 

“Come for hyung?” Taemin asks, and Jeno loses it. It punches straight through him, grip tightening in Taemin’s hair, his hips snapping forward as Taemin takes him back into his mouth, just in time to catch the crescendo — the moment where Jeno’s orgasm slams into him. 

He almost misses finishing Taemin off. He pulls him up by the hair to kiss him, tasting himself on his tongue as he wraps a hand around him and finishes what he’d started, licking his cum from Taemin’s mouth as he stutters and gasps against him, spilling all over Jeno’s hand. Jeno licks his fingers clean under Taemin’s gaze, and then there’s a moment where they both stare at each other — a dual recognition of what had just happened. A moment where they decide what happens next — if this is acknowledged. Taemin could leave. Jeno could leave. They could chalk this up to chance — two idols with hectic schedules getting a second of relief. 

And yet. Taemin tilts his head to the side, lips curving up into a smile. He giggles and steps away from Jeno, collapsing back against the mirror, limbs going everywhere, and when he looks up at him that same smile is still on his face — something inviting. He pats the floor between his legs and Jeno flops down beside him, staying upright for about half a second before he falls onto his back, spreading out and staring up at the lights on the ceiling. 

It all settles into his limbs and he smiles, laughing, too, at how ridiculous this all is. He thinks it’s probably a SM right of passage to fuck in the practice rooms — this isn’t his first rodeo, and it surely isn’t Taemin’s either. He hopes his knees don’t end up bruised, before he remembers Taemin lives alone. He has no nosy group mates to ask him who’s dick he was sucking.

Lucky bastard. 

“You okay?” Taemin asks. There's amusement in his voice, and Jeno doesn’t have the energy to lift his head to see what he looks like — though he probably doesn’t need to. He’s definitely grinning.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> was it taemin or jeno with the hyung kink? ;)


End file.
